


How To Cry

by Attenia



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, OOC Aragorn, Out of Character Legolas Greenleaf, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-27 00:55:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18187709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Attenia/pseuds/Attenia
Summary: After Aragorn falls off the cliff, Legolas starts to fade from grief over the supposed death of his best friend. Aragorn finally reaches him, but he doesn't know if he's arrived in time to save Legolas' dying soul. OOC Legolas and Aragorn. Trigger warnings for self-harm and suicidal thoughts.





	How To Cry

Legolas  
“Legolas?” Gimli’s voice was uncharacteristically gentle, and ordinarily, Legolas would have teased him about his concern, but not today. He didn’t answer, electing to stare straight ahead without seeing. The dwarf sighed, but didn’t press conversation.  
It was good that Gimli had insisted on sitting in front of Legolas on the horse, because Legolas was sure that he would have led them into a bog by now had he had control of the reins. Helm’s Deep loomed closer, but Legolas felt no relief at the sight.  
All he could think of was Estel. His best friend, the brother of his heart… dead, his body left who knows where to rot. Why couldn’t he cry? The agony rampaging through him seemed to demand tears, but Legolas’ eyes remained stubbornly dry.  
Even Gimli was crying. Legolas could see silent tears disappearing into his beard whenever the dwarf turned his head. He was bizarrely jealous of his friend’s tears. Why could Gimli achieve this simple relief and he could not?  
The world wavered before him. Legolas knew he was dying, fading from his grief. He’d known for a long time that when Estel went, he would follow into death. Surely, the Valar wouldn’t be so cruel as to deny Estel a place in the Undying Lands? He may be a man by birth, but his heart was with the elves.  
That was Legolas’ only hope; that when he died, he would see Estel again.  
Mithrandir had given his word to Elrond that he would personally see to it that Estel was brought to Valinor after his death. Legolas didn’t know how much say Mithrandir had over the matter, but it was in the wizard’s promise that he put his hopes now.  
He couldn’t die yet, though. First, he had to write to his father. He knew he’d never live long enough to make the trip back to Greenwood, so a letter would have to suffice. He had to say goodbye.  
He was off the horse the moment they clattered into Helm’s Deep. Behind him, Gimli was swearing and demanding that he wait, but Legolas darted away, desperate to be alone. He staggered through the crowds, looking for an empty room where he could finally lie down and die in peace.  
He must be in a sorry state, indeed, for Gimli managed to catch him before he got far. A dwarf, outrunning an elf! Legolas would have never lived it down, were he planning to live at all.  
A hand like iron clamped down on his wrist. “Oh no you don’t, laddie. Where are you off to in such a hurry?”  
“Go away, Gimli. I want to be alone.”  
“No.” The stubborn dwarf wouldn’t be shaken off, and Legolas’ efforts were weak, his body already failing him.  
“Leave me alone!”  
“I can’t. I made a promise to Aragorn.”  
The sound of his name sent pain racing through Legolas’ heart. He clutched at his chest with his free hand, trying to keep his knees from buckling. “What promise?” he whispered, leaning against the wall to keep himself upright.  
“He took me aside a while ago, in Lothlorien. He knew how dangerous this mission was, and he knew how you’d react if something happened to him. He made me promise to look after you, should the worst happen. I promised him I would.”  
Legolas let out a desolate laugh. “No one can look after me, Gimli. I’m already gone. My heart departed this world with Estel. My body simply hasn’t realized it, yet. It will, though. It won’t be long.”  
He didn’t wait to hear Gimli’s gasp – whether of pain or shock, he didn’t know – but swiftly yanked his wrist free from the dwarf’s momentarily loosened grip.  
Legolas pushed his dying body to run, urging his sluggish legs faster. He only wanted to be alone. His body answered this final plea and allowed his legs to speed up; soon, he’d left everyone behind. Legolas ran up some stairs to an abandoned tower before finally allowing his legs to give out. He fell heavily to his knees.  
Not yet. Almost.  
He pulled out a quill and some paper from his backpack, and started writing the note with a shaky hand. They would find it on his body and see it was delivered to his father. The note didn’t say much, other than that Legolas loved him, and that he was sorry. Thranduil would understand. He knew how Legolas felt about Estel.  
His final task done, Legolas let the letter slip from his numb fingers. He was vaguely aware of his head hitting the hard, cold stone floor as he collapsed sideways. Most unfortunately, he didn’t pass out, but lay there with nothing to do but wait.  
He missed Estel so much. It hurt more than every injury he’d ever received combined. Legolas curled into a ball, trying to push away the pain. He could feel himself fading, but it wasn’t happening fast enough for his liking.  
Legolas screamed. He screamed and screamed as the horror and anguish ravaged him, but there was no relief from this pain.  
Still, the tears wouldn’t come. Desperate to find some way to divert even a portion of his agony, Legolas fumbled for his knife, pulling it out and clutching the blade tightly in both hands. It was sharp and started to cut him immediately. It didn’t help much, but even a tiny bit of relief was better than nothing. It would do, until death finally took him in its merciful embrace.  
Blood running down his hands, Legolas quietly prayed that death would come quickly. 

Aragorn  
Aragorn was exhausted. He wanted only to see Legolas and Gimli, and lie down for a long, long sleep. He looked around hopefully, and was rewarded by the sight of the dwarf pushing a path to him through the many people milling around.  
“Aragorn!” Gimli sounded frantic, and Aragorn hurried to his friend.  
“I’m alright, Gimli, it’s nothing a healer and a few night’s rest can’t –”  
“Shut up and listen. I lost Legolas. I’ve been searching for him for hours, he’s disappeared. He wasn’t in a good way, Aragorn.”  
Just like that, Aragorn’s insides turned to ice. He’d been so focused on getting back to Helm’s Deep that he hadn’t truly thought of what the news of his apparent death would do to his best friend. He knew that if their situations had been reversed, he would have thrown himself right off the cliff to join his brother in death, mission be damned.  
Legolas didn’t need to throw himself off a cliff. He was an elf. His grief would surely kill him, if it hadn’t already.  
He clutched Gimli’s arm. “We have to find him!”  
“I know that, what do you think I’ve been trying to do?”  
Aragorn didn’t answer the exasperated dwarf, but took off running. The towers. Legolas would surely go to one of them. With no trees available, he’d take a tower as the best substitute he could find for his deathbed. Helm’s Deep had a number of towers, and Aragorn had been ‘dead’ for many hours already. Above all, he feared finding his friend’s corpse.  
Time blurred into a succession of running and searching. With each empty tower, Aragorn became more and more desperate. When he entered the fifth tower, he was running headlong and tripped over something on the floor.  
A weak groan had him dropping to his knees. It was Legolas. Aragorn’s relief that the elf was alive warred with his panic at his friend’s condition. Legolas was pale, cold and unresponsive. His hands were covered in blood, and Aragorn had to pry the knife out of his stiff fingers, tossing it aside.  
“Legolas, mellon nin, I am here. Speak to me.”  
Legolas didn’t seem to hear him. His eyes were dazed and unfocused. His pulse was weak and thready, and Aragorn feared it might stop at any moment. He pulled the elf into his arms, hugging him tightly. “I’m here, gwador. Saes, come back to me. Saes.”

Legolas  
Surely, he must be dead now. Legolas could hear Estel’s voice. A ray of hope shone through the darkness in his mind. Estel had been allowed into Valinor after all. Legolas blinked sluggishly. His body didn’t seem to want to respond, which didn’t make sense, because he had no body. He was dead.  
Why, then, could he feel someone holding him?  
Gimli. Had he the energy, Legolas would have cursed the foul dwarf. Gimli must have found him and was even now trying to pull him back into the world of life. That was bad enough, but that his delusional mind would make him think he heard Estel’s voice – that was beyond cruel. Pain wracked him and Legolas curled into a tighter ball.  
“Leave me alone,” he whispered with all his strength, which wasn’t much. “Let me die.”  
“I will not, gwador.”  
Legolas winced. Still, Estel’s voice taunted him. He blinked some more, trying to clear his vision. Perhaps if he could see Gimli, the hallucination of Estel’s voice would fade.  
Instead of Gimli, Estel slowly came into focus. He was filthy and looked exhausted, but the sight of him had Legolas squeezing his eyes shut again, crying out against the pain in his shattered heart. “Go away,” he moaned. “Let me die in peace.” Hadn’t he suffered enough? Did he have to be taunted by agonizing hallucinations too?  
“Legolas, I’m here. I’m not dead, and neither are you. You are not dying today, mellon nin, I won’t have it.”  
Estel’s arms were warm and firm around him, and the vision didn’t waver. Legolas squinted, expecting Estel to vanish at any moment. When he didn’t, confusion battled with hope. Could it be possible? He knew that if he hoped, and that hope proved false, he would die on the spot when this vision left.  
“Mellon nin? You’re scaring me. Please, speak to me.”  
“You – how?” Why not hope? It would likely only kill him faster, which was what Legolas wanted.  
“I fell into the water. I washed up downstream. It was lucky Brego found me, or I might not have made it back.”  
It was possible. Dare he believe that this might be real? “You’re not a dream? You’re really here?”  
Estel smiled widely, his eyes sparkling. “I’m really here, mellon nin. I promise.”  
Suddenly, his body remembered how to cry. The tears came thick and fast. Estel pulled Legolas into his arms, and the prince clutched at his friend’s jacket, sobbing so hard that he could barely breathe.  
“Shh, it’s alright, I’m fine, we’re going to be ok.” Estel murmured comforting words in his ear, but it seemed that now the tears had started, they wouldn’t stop. All of the pain of the past few hours held tightly to Legolas, unwilling to let go.  
“I – I – thought – you were – d-dead,” he choked, scrabbling at his chest, where he could almost feel the lacerations on his heart.  
“I know. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. It’s ok, gwador, I will not leave you…”  
Estel pried Legolas’ hands away from his chest, and Legolas realized he’d been scraping at the skin with his nails, causing thin lines of blood trying to get to his traitorous heart.  
“What did you do to your hands, mellon nin?” Estel tried to examine the prince’s lacerated palms, but Legolas disregarded this, throwing his arms around the human’s waist, squeezing as tightly as he could.  
“Please, never leave me again.”  
“I won’t. I promise, Legolas. Never again.” Estel gathered the distraught elf into his arms, wrapping the prince up in his embrace. Legolas once more curled into a ball, his arms still clenched around his friend as he cried in abject misery as the memories mercilessly washed over him.  
Looking down to the bottom of the cliff, expecting to see Estel’s broken body. Riding away, leaving his heart behind him. Lying on the cold stone floor, waiting to die, begging death to hurry…  
All the tears he couldn’t cry before now came unbidden, and Legolas couldn’t stop them. He was too weak to do anything but hold onto Estel and press his head to the human’s chest, feeling his heartbeat, reminding himself that his best friend was alive.  
He knew he should feel joyful, but Legolas’ elven heart would not mend so quickly from the wounds Estel’s apparent death had inflicted on it.  
Estel didn’t rush him or try to quiet him. He simply held Legolas, for which the prince was grateful. They must have been there for hours. Slowly, Legolas’ wild sobs faded to heavy tears tracking down his face, which faded to a few sniffles and minor tears escaping every time he blinked.  
“How are you doing?” It was the first time in hours Estel had spoken anything other than meaningless words of comfort.  
“Better.” Legolas sniffed. “I’m not sure I’m ready to leave yet, though.”  
“We can stay here as long as you need, mellon nin. Gimli will find us soon enough, and I can send him to get food for us. Now come, let me look at your hands.”  
Estel let go of Legolas and moved back slightly, intending to get a clearer view of the elf’s bloody palms. Legolas was seized by an irrational panic and cried out at the separation, flinging himself at Estel, clutching him so hard he was lucky he didn’t hear a rib crack.  
The tears were back, and Legolas was trembling so hard that his grip around Estel’s waist kept slipping.  
“Ok, it’s alright, gwador. Not yet, I understand. We can sort out your hands later.”  
Legolas didn’t calm until Estel put his arms around the elf in a bruising hug, holding tightly until his sobs and tremors faded once more. He was exhausted and his eyes ached from crying. He longed to sleep, but he was terrified that if he fell asleep, Estel would be gone when he woke, and he’d be all alone again.  
He tried to hide his weariness, but Estel was quick to notice. “You need sleep. Rest, mellon nin, I will be here when you wake.”  
Though he didn’t want to, Legolas found himself losing the battle. He twined his fingers with Estel’s, praying that when he woke, the man would still be with him. 

Aragorn  
Aragorn would have liked to shift into a more comfortable position, but every time he tried to move, Legolas frantically tightened his hold on him, even in sleep. He knew his friend needed the rest, so Aragorn resigned himself to sleeping sitting up with the elf curled up on his lap.  
He managed to doze off and was woken by the door banging open. “Shh,” he hissed at whoever it was. “He’s sleeping, don’t wake him.”  
Gimli stumbled in and crashed to the floor, staring at Legolas’ sleeping form. “I’m going to kill that elf,” he muttered, his voice saturated with relief that belied his words. “Nearly gave me heart failure, he did. He’s alright, then?”  
“He’s alive, and in time, he will be fine.” Aragorn tenderly brushed some hair of Legolas’ forehead. “Gimli, could you bring up some food, water, bandages and blankets? I think we might be here for a while.”  
Gimli nodded, glancing down at Legolas, who was still attached to Aragorn like a clam. “Next time, tell him to hide somewhere that doesn’t have so many damn stairs.”  
“There won’t be a next time. Neither of us can survive a repeat of this. From now on, if someone is going to fall off a cliff, we’ll be falling together.”  
“Crazy human,” Gimli muttered, but he gave Aragorn an understanding smile before making his noisy way down the stairs.  
Aragorn didn’t try to move, even though his neck was aching from sleeping at this angle. He remembered countless times in Imladris when Legolas had been recovering from one injury or another. The prince had a bad habit of leaping between danger and Aragorn; he had taken far too many wounds for him, as far as Aragorn was concerned.  
Several times, he’d been sure his friend was going to die, and Aragorn had been just as desperate and needy as Legolas was being now. He remembered his father having to literally drag him from Legolas’ bed to wash and eat, only to have him run back and curl into the elf’s side at the first opportunity.  
And that was just when he feared Legolas was going to die. Aragorn didn’t even want to think about what the prince had gone through, thinking that he was already dead. In truth, he was lucky to have found Legolas alive at all.  
Gimli returned with the food and supplies, and would only leave when Aragorn insisted that Legolas was on the mend and that he needed time alone with his best friend for now.  
Aragorn was just thinking of tending to Legolas’ hands while he slept when the prince jerked in his grip.  
“Legolas?”  
Legolas’ face scrunched up in distress and his fingers dug into Aragorn’s side.  
“Estel, no, please! No, don’t leave me! ESTEL!”  
Aragorn didn’t need to hear anything else. Legolas was obviously having a nightmare.  
“Legolas, mellon nin, awake. It is me, Estel. Wake up.” He shook the elf gently, then harder when Legolas started to thrash in his arms.  
“Legolas!”  
The prince’s eyes finally snapped open. Aragorn took his chin firmly, forcing Legolas to look at him. “I am here, Legolas. We are both alive and safe. Everything is ok.”  
The panic in Legolas’ eyes slowly receded, but his grip around Aragorn’s waist didn’t loosen.  
“Nightmare,” he muttered, averting his eyes.  
“I’d be surprised if you didn’t have nightmares after what you’ve just been through. Don’t worry over it, mellon nin. Gimli brought food and water, if you want any.”  
“Water,” Legolas said eagerly, and Aragorn handed him the skin.  
“Will you let me tend to your hands now?”  
Legolas nodded, but the fingers of the hand that wasn’t holding the water skin tightened their grip on Aragorn’s shirt. Aragorn had had time to figure out how to do this, and when Legolas finished drinking, he put the skin aside and pulled the healing kit closer.  
“Come here, like this.” He maneuvered the elf so that Legolas’ back was against his chest and Aragorn’s legs were wrapped around the ball the prince curled himself into. It wasn’t the best position to examine wounds, but Aragorn knew from the last time that letting go of Legolas wasn’t a good option right now.  
He just hoped the prince would feel safe enough to move by the time one of them needed to relieve themselves. Not that either of them was shy about being exposed in front of the other, but he could just imagine Gimli’s teasing if they couldn’t even separate long enough to answer nature’s call.  
Aragorn pulled his legs in tighter, mimicking the feeling of his arms around the elf. It seemed to work, because Legolas leaned his head on the man’s shoulder, his breathing relaxed as Aragorn examined his hands.  
“What did you do to yourself, gwador? Your hands are cut to ribbons!”  
Legolas mumbled something Aragorn couldn’t make out. “What?”  
“I couldn’t cry. I had to do something. It helped, a bit, to hold the blade…”  
This didn’t entirely make sense, but Aragorn supposed it didn’t matter. “You have a thing or two to learn about blade work, mellon nin. You see, there’s this thing called the hilt that is a remarkably good place to hold a knife…”  
Legolas chuckled weakly. “I’ll have to keep that in mind.”  
Aragorn finished bandaging the prince’s hands – fortunately, none of the cuts were deep enough to require stitches, though it was a close thing. He tilted the elf’s head back, looking into his eyes. He still saw the shadow of fear and pain, which he supposed would be there for a long time.  
“How are you feeling, mellon nin?”  
“If you’re asking if I’m done trying to crush your ribs yet, the answer is no.” To punctuate his words, Legolas wrapped his arms back around Aragorn’s waist, hugging him so tightly that the man could barely breathe. Aragorn hugged him back just as tightly.  
“I’m so glad you’re alive, gwador.”  
The prince rolled his eyes. “That’s meant to be my line. You’re the one who recklessly threw himself off a cliff, after all.”  
“You know how I love cliffs. Can’t stay away from them.”  
He was answered by a choked sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “From now on, you’re avoiding them. And anything else remotely dangerous. When I tell Lord Elrond…”  
“Don’t you dare! Ada would chain me to my bed and never let me leave Imladris again.”  
“Hmm, sounds like a good idea to me.” Legolas grinned as he dodged an elbow to the ribs. “What about your brothers? Can I tell them?”  
“Only if you want to have two twin-shaped shadows following us around for the rest of our lives.”  
“Maybe I’ll pass on that one. I still remember the time I woke up with worms in my bedroll after Elladan’s watch was over.”  
“That’s because you put glue in Elrohir’s shoes! What did you expect?”  
Legolas just shook his head, but the smile remained on his face, and his grip around Aragorn’s middle loosened slightly.  
They spent the next several hours eating, talking and laughing. When they finally left the tower, Legolas stuck close to Aragorn’s side, which was to the man’s liking. He wasn’t the only one who had almost lost his best friend and Aragorn wasn’t any keener to let the elf out of his sight than Legolas was to let the man out of his.  
Gimli somehow managed to convince the two of them to drink with him, something Aragorn knew he was going to regret the next day, but for now, he was content to sit beside Legolas – who had Gimli on his other side – and savor the taste of the ale.  
There was still a looming shadow over the world. There were still armies to defeat, a ring to destroy and hobbits to find, but for now, Aragorn was content. He gently took Legolas’ hand under the table, and the two exchanged a smile. Yes, they’d had a terrible scare, but that was over.  
They were both alive, and for now, it felt like everything was right with the world.


End file.
